


slow simmer

by allegrolines



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Food, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, POV Outsider, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7477305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegrolines/pseuds/allegrolines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things is, they have all been living under the same roof for <i>years</i>. Sungyeol is used to Woohyun’s cooking by now—the final taste of his dishes is still kind of hit-or-miss, in Sungyeol’s personal opinion, but it’s obvious that he enjoys puttering around in the kitchen, that it’s something he cares about. Sungyeol is also familiar with Woohyun’s particular brand of fried rice—fast, simple and <i>lazy</i>—mixed with ham and scrambled eggs, seasoned with a dash of soy sauce and sesame oil, plus some chopped green onion or a bit of shredded seaweed sprinkled on top, if he’s feeling particularly inspired.</p><p>Whatever Woohyun’s making for dinner today, it’s definitely not that.</p><p>---</p><p>(Or, five times Woohyun cooks dinner, one time he doesn’t, and one time Howon cooks it for him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	slow simmer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [takakoyaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/takakoyaki/gifts).



> For taka: a story about food and friendship (and Wooya.)
> 
>  
> 
> \---
> 
> (Even though the timeline is purposely vague, the vignettes are set at different points of 2014 and 2015.)

1.

Sungyeol stops on his way to the coffee machine. He stares down at the countertop, all thoughts of a late-morning snack scampering away.

“What’s this?” he asks.

Woohyun bumps the door of the fridge with his hip, pushing it closed. “What do you mean ‘what’s this’? I’m making fried rice.” He walks around Sungyeol and crouches down to grab a pan from one of the lower cupboards. “If you want to make coffee or whatever you better do it now. I’m going to need the extra space in a moment.”

“I can see that?” Sungyeol replies. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question; after all, Woohyun’s making sense, at least objectively speaking. The thing is—

The things is, they have all been living under the same roof for _years_. Sungyeol is used to Woohyun’s cooking by now—the final taste of his dishes is still kind of hit-or-miss, in Sungyeol’s personal opinion, but it’s obvious that he enjoys puttering around in the kitchen, that it’s something he cares about. Sungyeol is also familiar with Woohyun’s particular brand of fried rice—fast, simple and _lazy_ —mixed with ham and scrambled eggs, seasoned with a dash of soy sauce and sesame oil, plus some chopped green onion or a bit of shredded seaweed sprinkled on top, if he’s feeling particularly inspired.

Whatever Woohyun’s making for dinner today, it’s definitely not that.

He’s busy slicing pork belly into thin strips, and there’s already a small mountain of minced onion and garlic on the cutting board, cubed zucchini put aside on a plate, shiitake soaking in a bowl by the sink. Woohyun handles the knife easily; once he’s done with the meat he drains and rinses the mushrooms, squeezing the water out of them.

“Are we celebrating anything today?” Sungyeol asks, feeling both fascinated and apprehensive. He forgoes his cup of coffee and goes to pour himself some juice instead. “I haven’t forgotten anyone’s birthday, right?”

“You’re being so weird this morning,” Woohyun replies. The pan goes over the biggest burner; he drizzles in some oil, then waits until it just starts smoking to start stir frying the onion and garlic.

Sungyeol means to complain about how unfair is for Woohyun to accuse _him_ of being weird, but— “Isn’t that your mom’s kimchi?” Incredulity seeps into his voice. Woohyun’s been guarding those few jars of homemade cabbage kimchi with the zeal of a dragon, keeping them tightly wrapped in the same plastic bag his mother sent them in. They’ve been tucked away in a corner of the fridge, half-hidden at the back of Woohyun’s shelf, and so far Woohyun’s been pretty unwilling to share any of it. “You’re putting that in the rice?”

The pork sizzles when Woohyun adds it to the pan and gives it a good shake. “I need kimchi to make kimchi fried rice, Sungyeol-ah,” he says mildly. He turns around, raising his eyebrows at Sungyeol. “If you’re only going to stand there and watch, you should go and start setting the table.” He glances down at the stove again. “This is going to be done in a bit.”

“Sungjong can do it,” Sungyeol replies automatically. “Or Myungsoo.”

Woohyun snorts. “Go tell them that yourself.” The kimchi goes in next, chopped into pieces, and the smell of it hits Sungyeol’s nose as soon as it touches the hot pan, making his mouth water. “As long as it’s set I don’t really care who does it.”

That seems to be it for Woohyun; he falls silent and focuses fully on the food, keeping an eye on the pan and reaching for the zucchini after a bit. Sungyeol stays there for a few more minutes, until he eventually gets bored of Woohyun not talking to him; he finishes the juice and leaves the glass on the counter.

He’s looking for Sungjong when he runs into Howon.

“Namu’s making enough food for an army in there,” Sungyeol says, pointing back to the kitchen over his shoulder. “Have I missed something, or—?”

Howon frowns. “I don’t think so.”

“Well—” Sungyeol says. He shrugs, his voice fading away. “I’m gonna ask our maknae to get the table ready.”

“Good luck with that, Yeol-ah,” Howon replies, already walking away.

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me right now or not,” Sungyeol mumbles at his back.

Sungjong’s leafing through a magazine on his bunk; he accepts the chore easily enough though, and only sighs a little when Sungyeol wraps an arm around his neck and messes with his hair. Sungyeol sprawls on the floor by the couch, flicking through the TV channels while Sungjong brings napkins and cutlery from the kitchen. He avoids the few silent, put-upon looks Sungjong gives him, and lets his head loll back until it touches the armrest. Myungsoo and Dongwoo join them just when Sungyeol has settled on a baseball match, filling the living room with their voices; Sunggyu walks in a moment later, blinking owlishly at the four of them before poking at Sungyeol and telling him to scoot over.

A sort of reverent hush falls over everybody when Woohyun and Howon finally bring in the food and start passing bowls around the table. Sungyeol glances at the others, waiting to see if someone will have anything to say about the meal, but soon it becomes obvious that they are only concerned about eating every single spoonful of rice, down to the very last grain. It’s _good_. It has both green onion _and_ shredded seaweed mixed in, and Sungyeol can smell sesame oil too, but that’s where the similarities with Woohyun’s usual recipe end. Each bowl is topped with a fried egg—even though some of them are broken, or a little overdone—and sesame seeds. The pork belly is tender, and the overall taste is rich, just spicy enough for the heat to linger at the back of Sungyeol’s throat. 

“You even got the toasted bits right and everything,” Howon says all of a sudden. Sungyeol looks at Howon’s plate, then down at his own—some of the rice is darker, like it had got stuck to the bottom of the pan.

Woohyun grins back at Howon. “I know this isn’t exactly the same recipe—”

“Are you kidding? It’s just like I remember it.” Howon takes a bite and hums around it, low and contented. The egg yolk in his bowl, Sungyeol notices, has bled bright yellow all over everything else.

“What are you two mumbling about?” Sunggyu says, raising his head from where he’s talking to Myungsoo and Sungjong. He flicks Dongwoo’s hands away when they start getting too close to his food.

“Childhood memories,” Howon says without missing a beat. Sunggyu looks confused for a brief moment, but then shakes his head and returns to his conversation with the others without any other questions. That short lapse of attention is enough for Dongwoo to steal a couple of spoonfuls of rice from his plate.

“You’re so quiet today, Yeol-ah,” Woohyun says, snapping Sungyeol’s gaze back to their end of the table.

“I’m just eating,” he blurts—too fast, judging by the way Woohyun’s smile turns crooked and a little sly.

“Good to know you like it so much, Yeollie,” he says happily.

“That’s not what I said,” he replies, even though he _is_ enjoying the food; it’s definitely a hit today, as far as he’s concerned.

Good food or not, Sungyeol can’t avoid the feeling that he’s missing something, like some kind of meaningful exchange has gone right over his head without him even noticing. It nags at him for the rest of the meal, but by the time they clear up the table and Myungsoo yells at him to start up a game the uneasiness is gone, buried under the sound of good-natured bickering and the too-bright glow of the TV, the rumble of a day off spent indoors.

 

2.

“Hey, I’m making pancakes in a bit,” Woohyun says, walking in from the front door and shrugging off his coat. Howon follows a couple of steps behind him. “Do you guys want some?”

Myungsoo lifts his head so fast that Sungyeol almost expects to hear a whoosh, as if he were a cartoon character. “Kimchi pancakes?” 

“Yeah, why not,” Woohyun says, smiling. “There’re some leftovers in the fridge that we should finish, so I’ll reheat them too. And Howonie will get the rice ready today,” he ads with a chuckle.

Howon rolls his eyes. “We both know I always end up doing more prep than you,” he replies. Somehow, he sounds happier about the idea of cutting vegetables or doing whatever Woohyun asks of him than Sungyeol knows he’d be if he were the one in Howon’s shoes. Woohyun’s grin turns into a full-blown laugh.

That seems to be enough of an explanation for Myungsoo, who goes back to his guitar with a pleased grin, no doubt already thinking about all the pancakes he’ll eat. Sungyeol isn’t as easily convinced, though. 

“Doesn’t it bother you that Namu only cooks when Hoya’s over, lately?” he asks once both Howon and Woohyun are gone.

“He made ramyun the other night,” Myungsoo replies absently, not taking his eyes off his own fingers on the fretboard. “Two days ago?”

“No, I mean cooking _cooking_ ,” Sungyeol insists, nudging Myungsoo’s calf with his foot. “Not just boiling water.”

Myungsoo shrugs, eyes still downcast. His thumbnail catches on one of the strings— _Sol_ , Sungyeol thinks, getting more and more annoyed by his lack of response—and he huffs, shaking his hair off his face. “What do you want me to say, Yeollie?”

“I don’t know,” Sungyeol says. “ _Something_?” 

“It’s not as if any of us have that much free time to spend in the kitchen,” Myungsoo says back, a bit testily. “Also, I’m pretty sure whenever Woohyun makes something Howon doesn’t go around complaining about his food.”

Sungyeol gapes at him. “Give me a break,” he replies, stung. “That only happened once, with the japchae.” He knows he can be too blunt sometimes, but it’s not like he’s ever trying to be a jerk to the others on purpose. “Also, all I said was that the noodles were bland, for fuck’s sake. That hardly counts as complaining.”

“I didn’t—Look,” Myungsoo says, strumming a quick chord progression. He places his open hand on the strings when he finishes, muting the sound. “We’ve all been jerks to each other at some point. Sometimes it was for the cameras, sometimes it wasn’t. I wasn’t even talking about _you_ right now, Yeol-ah. What I meant is—As long as we get to eat the food, Woohyun should do whatever he wants, right?”

Sungyeol is about to answer when Sungjong comes in, pink cheeked from the cold and smelling like chlorine. “Is something wrong, hyungs?” he asks, staring from Myungsoo to Sungyeol, and back again.

“No,” Sungyeol replies, at the same time that Myungsoo beams sunnily and says, “Woohyun’s making dinner for everybody.”

“I see,” Sungjong says slowly. “I’ll go say hi to Howon-hyung, then,” he ads. Sungyeol barely refrains himself from pointing out how no one has mentioned Howon, yet Sungjong is rightly assuming he is here.

It wouldn’t be a problem—not that it _is_ a problem, technically—if Sungyeol didn’t have the feeling that this same situation has already happened before.

Their dinner is uneventful; the pancakes are golden and crisp, and there’s a decent amount of side dishes and enough steamed rice to make up a full meal for all of them. At one point Woohyun tears off a piece from one of the pancakes and places it on Howon’s plate, without even looking at what he’s doing or halting the discussion he and Howon are having about song arrangements and distribution of lyrics. Sungyeol tries to catch Myungsoo’s eye, but he’s too busy stuffing his mouth with food, happily oblivious to Sungyeol’s meaningful glances. Sungjong looks back at him, when Sungyeol gives up on Myungsoo, but he does so with the most unnervingly serene expression on his face. Sungyeol looks away, feeling heat start to creep up his neck.

Later, he is left to load the dishwasher after losing at rock-paper-scissors. The noise from the living room filters through the wall—and ad for moisturizer, followed by the jingle of the news broadcast. The last pot goes in and Sungyeol yawns and stretches his back, feeling sleepy even though it’s not particularly late yet.

“Oh, you’re already done,” Woohyun says, walking into the kitchen. “Thanks, Yeol-ah.”

Sungyeol would say something about how it’s not like he had a choice, given that they had bet on who would tidy up after dinner, but Woohyun sounds genuinely grateful, and Sungyeol doesn’t want to be the one to burst that bubble. 

“I’m going back to the studio with Howon for a bit,” Woohyun keeps saying. “We have an early start tomorrow morning, so don’t let the others stay up all night,” he adds, as if he won’t be the one working on who knows what for hours, instead of sleeping like he should. “Yah, are you listening or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sungyeol replies. “It’s not my first time babysitting them, you know.”

“Jjongie would _love_ to hear you say that.”

Sungyeol starts to feel flustered. “We all know what we’re meant to do,” he says. “But I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Woohyun’s expression softens visibly. “I know you will,” he says, like it was the most obvious thing from the very beginning.

 _Don’t stay up all night either_ , Sungyeol thinks, although his mouth stays infuriatingly closed. For some reason, his mind keeps wandering to what Myungsoo said earlier.

_I’m pretty sure whenever Woohyun makes something Howon doesn’t go around complaining about his food._

“Dinner was good,” Sungyeol says. “You’ve really got so much better at some dishes—you should probably stick to those,” he adds before he can stop the words from tumbling out, graceless and too honest, wincing when Woohyun doesn’t reply right away. He looks up, peering at Woohyun’s face and expecting to see—Anger? A well-placed mask of bravado? 

Instead, Woohyun lights up like a Christmas tree. “It’s been more difficult to find time to eat together. I’m glad everyone enjoyed the pancakes.” He smiles. “Hopefully Dongwoo and Sunggyu-hyung will be able to join us, next time.”

Whatever answer Sungyeol was expecting, it certainly wasn’t that one. Then again, it makes sense for Woohyun to feel like that—it’s still weird that the seven of them aren’t living at the same place anymore, even though their new arrangement means more privacy and space. “Isn’t Howon waiting for you?” he asks, feeling not only flustered but also vulnerable all of a sudden. There are days where he can’t help but wonder about the possibility of them drifting apart as time goes by, and Woohyun’s comment hits a bit too close to home for his own comfort.

Woohyun looks at him, head tilted to the side. “He is,” he finally replies. “I’ll see you later.”

Sungyeol waves him off. He has no hope whatsoever that he’s been able to keep his emotions hidden, but at least Woohyun doesn’t seem inclined to pry.

“Sungyeol-ah.” Woohyun hesitates, tapping his fingers on the door frame. “There’s ice cream in the freezer, behind the bag of peas and the prawn dumplings.” His expression is amused again. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Sungyeol checks the freezer later, long after Woohyun and Howon are gone, and once Sungjong and Myungsoo have fallen asleep on opposite ends of the same couch. He pushes aside a bag of sliced bread and a tray of meatballs, looks past the peas and the dumplings Woohyun mentioned. He stops, a grin blooming on his lips.

There are four mini strawberry popsicles, and, underneath them, a box of almond cream sandwiches, still untouched.

 

3.

“Lightly fry the onions and garlic in olive oil over medium heat, until they are soft and translucent,” Howon says. It sounds like he’s reading aloud—which he is, Sungyeol realizes; Howon is holding his phone up, like he would do in order to follow the lyrics of a new song. “Do you have the tomatoes ready? We got the right kind of oregano, didn’t we?”

“I do, and we did,” Woohyun replies from the stove, where he’s adding spaghetti to a big pot full of boiling water. “I don’t think there’s a wrong kind of oregano, anyway.”

“Is that for us, Namu?” Sungyeol asks, stepping aside so Sungjong can also walk in.

“Namu lost a bet,” Howon says, before Woohyun can reply. “This is his punishment.”

“My _punishment_ ,” Woohyun repeats, disbelief pitching his voice high. “Thank you, Howon-ssi.”

“I’m going to eat what’s left of the potato salad, hyung,” Sungjong cuts in. He takes a container out of the fridge and moves to the counter, at Woohyun’s right side. “We still have bread, right?”

“There’s still some, yeah,” Woohyun tells him. “And you,” he adds, turning to Howon, “how’s this a punishment, you said—”

“I said I wanted you to cook dinner,” Howon interrupts him. “For us. Since I won the bet.”

Woohyun looks flustered, his face a dark shade of red. Maybe it’s because of the heat of the burners, Sungyeol guesses; it’s been unseasonably hot over the last few days, and their kitchen is a bit stuffy, especially with four people in it. Sungjong snorts, placing a lettuce leaf on a thick slice of bread and spreading potato salad on top of it. He touches Woohyun’s elbow briefly, points at something at their left. Woohyun wordlessly hands him the black pepper.

“So wait, you won and then asked Namu to cook?” Sungyeol asks. “Why not going to a nice restaurant and making him pay for everything?”

“Thank you too, Sungyeol-ssi,” Woohyun says.

“I dunno, I just felt like staying in.” Howon’s grin is big and lopsided. “Also, Woohyunie let me choose the menu and everything.”

“That’s not—” Sungyeol starts.

“What day is it today?” Sungjong asks suddenly.

Sungyeol stares at him, surprised. “September 20th. Why?”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Sungjong replies under his breath. “Hyung,” he tells Sungyeol, “you should help me go over my notes on Japanese grammar.”

“Wait—Now?”

“Yes.” Sungjong grabs his sandwich and practically drags Sungyeol out of the kitchen. “Enjoy your dinner, hyungs,” he calls over his shoulder.

The sound of Woohyun’s laughter accompanies them all the way to the living room.

 

4.

When Sungyeol’s phone starts pinging with notifications he’s in the middle of getting his hair done, the snip of scissors too close to his ears and the stink of dye burning in his nose. He has to pat his jeans blindly to fish it out of one of the back pockets, and then he almost drops it on his own face while he’s unlocking it. The stylist giggles behind him, loud and unabashed.

There’s a string of texts from Woohyun, something about cooking for everybody, followed by enthusiastic, emoji-filled answers from Myungsoo and Dongwoo. It’s funny how fast everybody replies to the group chat when food is the topic, Sungyeol thinks, scrolling past a text from Sungjong asking if Woohyun needs anyone to go to the grocery store. Sunggyu pipes in to update them on the time his current schedule is supposed to end, and then come Woohyun’s replies—more emojis; no, he doesn’t need any groceries, but thanks for asking, Joongie; the chicken should be ready by then, hyung.

The hair dryer is uncomfortably hot on the back of Sungyeol’s head. He stays still, his fingers flying over the keyboard, adding to the conversation among a chorus of excited _chicken!!!!_ texts.

“You’re done,” the stylist says, patting his shoulder.

“Thank you, noona,” he replies, still distracted by his phone. The pace of the chat slows down quickly, almost as fast as it started; only Myungsoo and Dongwoo remain behind, texting about a movie they plan to watch together before their next period of promotions begins. Sungyeol swipes the app closed. “You’re the best,” he says, giving her a smile.

She sees him to the door, scolding him when he pushes his bangs off his face out of habit. Sungyeol flushes to the tips of his now-bare ears, bows to her a few times in rapid succession, thanks her again before leaving. 

The days have been growing warmer and longer. Even though Sungyeol stops to get coffee on his way to the apartment, the sky’s still faintly illuminated when he presses in the passcode, half an hour later. He pushes the door, sipping at his iced latte through a straw, expecting to be greeted home by the smell of food. 

“Namu?” he asks when there’s nothing—no smell of cooking in progress, no noise whatsoever—, raising his voice so it echoes in the hallway.

“Yeollie?” Woohyun’s reply comes back a few seconds later. It sounds strangely breathless, strangled. “You’re back already?”

Sungyeol can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “I was at the salon, not Mars,” he says, heading to his bedroom to change into soft, stay-at-home clothes before going to peek in the kitchen.

He does a double take when he finally goes to join Woohyun in there and finds Howon leaning casually against the counter. The weirdness is enhanced by a strong sense of deja vu—the scene is very similar to the one Sungyeol saw not so long ago, the night Woohyun was cooking pasta while Howon read the recipe aloud at him. In fact, it’s so similar that Sungyeol blinks a few times, unsure about whether his eyes are working right or not, and when he finally opens his mouth to speak the only thing that comes out is, “Have you lost a bet again? Is that why you’re making dinner today?”

“What? _No_ ,” Woohyun protests. The stove isn’t even on yet, but he’s peeling potatoes, and there are chicken thighs on a tray, already cut into pieces. “It’s just been a long time since we ate together. Can you bring me the carrots, Howon-ah? Oh, they’re—fridge, bottom left drawer.”

“What do you even want them for?” Howon asks.

The silence afterwards seems to last forever. “Uh,” Woohyun says at last, “for our dinner?”

“You put carrots with the braised chicken,” Howon says flatly. 

Woohyun stares at him, his expression caught between unsure and disbelieving. It looks, Sungyeol thinks, like he suspects Howon might be joking, and he’s waiting for some sort of punchline to come. “What’s wrong with carrots?” Woohyun asks.

“My mother makes it with potatoes and onions.” 

“Mine too,” Woohyun replies. “But she also puts carrots in it. She’s always cooked it like that.”

“Ah.” Howon finally goes to the fridge. “How do you make the seasoning paste, then? With soy sauce?”

“Soy sauce,” Woohyun agrees, ticking finger after finger to keep track of the ingredients. “Chili paste. Chili flakes. Sugar. Garlic—”

“Okay, that’s—”

“—Minced ginger, too.”

Howon seems to deflate a little. “Ginger? Really?”

“And sesame oil.”

“You don’t drizzle it in at the end?

Woohyun purses his mouth. “I mix it with all the other stuff and add it to the raw chicken, then I stir everything together in a pot and give it a quick fry before covering it with water and letting it simmer for a while.”

“My mom puts soju in the seasoning,” Sungyeol pipes in. Both of them look at him, exactly at the same time, then turn back towards each other. After a moment, Howon shakes his head. “Oh, c’mon, it was a good suggestion,” Sungyeol says.

“Well, soju is good to remove the—the raw smell of the meat? I think?” Woohyun doesn’t sound particularly convinced. “Boohyun-hyung mentioned something like that, a while ago. And also to snap the potatoes in chunks instead of cutting them cleanly so they can release their starch and thicken the broth.” He looks down at the counter. “We’ve already cleaned the chicken, though.”

“You’re the one cooking today, Woohyunie,” Howon says. He grimaces. “Speaking of brothers, I think my mom doesn’t use carrots because mine didn’t like them as a kid.”

“Hojae-hyung?”

Howon nods. “My point is,” he continues, “you should follow your recipe. Since you’re the one doing most of the work anyway.”

Sungyeol expects that to be end of the discussion. Woohyun still doesn’t look happy, for some unfathomable reason—

Until suddenly he does.

“What if—?” he says, his voice trailing off, almost dreamily. “Howon-ah, what if we compromised?”

“Compromised? You mean—?”

“My carrots,” Woohyun says. “Your seasoning?”

“You can do that?” Howon asks.

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Woohyun tells him, in what Sungyeol has grown to know as his stubborn voice, the one that means he’s had an idea and is determined to make it work. Both he and Howon are grinning, wide and kind of dopey.

“You two aren’t making any sense,” Sungyeol says, because someone has to. “I’ll be in my room,” he adds. “I got a script I want to read.”

To Woohyun’s credit, his smile doesn’t lose any of its brightness when he turns from Howon to Sungyeol. “A movie?” he asks. “Or is it a new web drama?”

“TV drama,” Sungyeol corrects him. The role he has his eye on isn’t the biggest, but the character is different from the ones he’s done before, and he knows it would be challenging—and rewarding—to play him. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up ahead of time, but it feels like he has a real chance of getting it.

“Well, dinner will still take a while,” Woohyun says. “And I want to wait for the others, so you should have plenty of time ”

Sungyeol hesitates. “I could help, too,” he offers, even though he isn’t a fan of being ordered around. “I could—cut stuff, or mix stuff, or whatever.”

“Nah, we’ve—Woohyun has this,” Howon says airily. Sungyeol wonders if Howon’s tongue actually slipped in the middle of his reply, or if he only imagined it happening. “Right, Woohyunie?”

“Don’t worry about it, Sungyeol-ah,” Woohyun tells him.

“Let me know if you need me,” Sungyeol says, even though he doubts they’ll call for him. He takes a last glance at them before leaving—Howon has taken the carrots out of the fridge at last, and Woohyun is putting together all the stuff he needs to make the sauce. They move around each other with practiced ease, their voices pitched low and soft, until everything looks ready to go.

Sungyeol ends up falling asleep a few pages into the third scene of the script, and wakes up to a dry, cottony mouth and Dongwoo’s weight on his calves. “Hyung,” he groans, twisting around so he can lift his face from the pillow. His head feels fuzzy, like the remains of a dream are still clinging to the corners of his brain. He tries to move his legs away, but Dongwoo doesn’t even budge. “Hyung,” Sungyeol repeats, “I can’t feel my feet.”

“This is interesting,” Dongwoo says, “but also scary. Do you think something like that could really happen?”

It takes Sungyeol a moment to realize Dongwoo is talking about the plot of the drama—the script is on his lap, his thumb bookmarking a place near the middle. “You’ve read a lot.” _A lot more than me_.

“I skipped forward in some places,” Dongwoo admits. He gets up, making Sungyeol wince at the prickly feeling below his knees. “Woohyunie said to let you know the food is almost ready.”

“Already?” Now that Dongwoo’s mentioned it, Sungyeol can smell the braised chicken, rich and heady. His stomach growls.

“I’ve tasted the broth,” Dongwoo tells him. “I asked Nam-goon how he had done it, but he wouldn’t tell.” He pouts, then reaches out and starts poking Sungyeol on the ribs. “You got here first, didn’t you?”

“Stop! Hyung, stop that!” 

Sungyeol tries to wriggle away, which in turn makes Dongwoo follow after him. They end up on the floor in a heap of limbs, dinner completely forgotten, wrestling just for the sake of it, as if they were four years younger and had fewer things to worry about. Dongwoo eventually loses some of his initial enthusiasm, too weak and breathless with laughter to put that much of a fight, but he keeps holding on to Sungyeol, just a little bit too tight. “You’ve been too serious lately, Sungyeol-ah,” he says thoughtfully—and that’s the thing about Dongwoo, how perceptive he can be despite looking like he is in a little world of his own more often than not. “I missed seeing you like this.”

“I’m fine, hyung,” Sungyeol says. He squeezes Dongwoo’s wrist, feeling a mix of awkwardness and gratitude bubble up in his belly. “Let’s go,” he adds, “before Woohyun sends someone else to look for us.”

“Or I could just eat your share of food, that’d be much easier.”

“Nam-goon!” Dongwoo springs to his feet, lightning quick, and practically runs up to Woohyun, who doesn’t even bat an eye when Dongwoo reaches for his hands and laces their fingers together. “You wouldn’t do that,” Dongwoo tells him, swinging their arms between them, “you like it when we eat what you cook.”

“I do,” Woohyun nods, smiling at him. Suddenly, he looks around Dongwoo’s head, glances down at Sungyeol. “What are you still doing on the floor?“

“I was getting up,” Sungyeol replies, struggling to sit upright and stand, being nowhere as fast as Dongwoo was.

He trails behind them—the apartment is full of noise, meaning everybody must have already arrived. Halfway through the hallway Dongwoo makes Woohyun stop, waits for Sungyeol to fall into step with them, then wraps an arm around both of their waists. He squeezes himself in the middle, compact and warm. “We should do this more often,” he says happily. 

Sungyeol doesn’t know for sure if Dongwoo is talking about getting the group together, or Woohyun making dinner for them, or their earlier tickle fight. It doesn’t really matter; even though he doesn’t voice his thoughts, Sungyeol finds that he very much agrees with that feeling.

 

5.

After the radio show all of them—except for Howon, who couldn’t come, and hasn’t finished his own individual schedule yet—end up gravitating towards one of the flats, instead of splitting in two as they usually would. It makes Sungyeol happy, having most of the group together outside of work. He skips forward while they are piling into the elevator, bumping against Woohyun’s side. “We’re hungry, Namu,” he says. “You should make us something.”

“I’m really tired today, Yeol-ah,” Woohyun replies. His hair has got too long again, and he keeps having to push it back every time it falls into his eyes. “But there’s instant ramyun in the pantry,” he says. “And eggs in the fridge.”

“We’re all tired, though,” Sungyeol insists; he wouldn’t, normally, but right now he feels like eating something home cooked for a change. He must be louder than he had intended, because Sungjong turns away from Myungsoo to glance back at them. “And everybody’s coming over.”

Woohyun says nothing. He smiles—it does look a little tight, but Sungyeol decides to count it as a win, at least until Woohyun says, “Another day, okay, Yeollie? Just make do for tonight.”

There’s something about Woohyun’s tone that holds Sungyeol’s tongue back, just before he can keep pushing. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but he can’t help feeling disappointed, like he had been promised something and then it had been taken away from him at the very last second. Sungyeol tries to push down his annoyance, reminding himself that Woohyun had said nothing about dinner. He goes to the bathroom while the others spread around the apartment, hoping that someone will have ordered food by the time he’s done.

The kitchen fan is on when he steps out. Sungyeol perks up, walking faster, expecting to see Sungjong by the stove, a pot of noodles already simmering over one of the big burners.

“—didn’t mean for it to come off like that.” 

Sungyeol stops before going through the door, realizing Woohyun is the one talking. His temper flares up. He can’t even explain why the thought of Woohyun cooking is making him angry all of a sudden, when that’s what he had asked for just a moment ago. 

“You don’t have to apologize, Nam-goon,” a different voice—Dongwoo’s voice—replies just as Sungyeol steps into the kitchen, determined to confront Woohyun about the food. Both of them turn around at the noise, one looking worried, the other just blank.

“What’s going on?” Sungyeol asks. When they don’t reply right away he stares at Woohyun and adds, “What’s with all that food? Didn’t you say you were tired?”

“It’s just some stew,” Woohyun replies after a pause, his voice as neutral as his face.

“Why?” Sungyeol presses. 

“Sungyeol-ah,” Dongwoo says. It might be a plea or a warning; Sungyeol can’t tell, too focused on the way Woohyun visibly flinches.

“You told me you wanted food.” Woohyun looks away, lowering his eyes. “I just thought—” He falters again. “Never mind.”

Sungyeol had said that, buoyed by the delight of their last comeback, satisfied after another completed schedule. However, Woohyun is beyond tired—Sungyeol can see that now, and how painfully obvious it is—and doesn’t seem to share those nice, positive thoughts. He’s wearing a headband to keep his bangs out of his face; any other day Sungyeol would tease him for it, poking fun at how silly it looks, but there’s something not quite right about Woohyun today. Sungyeol’s anger pops like a soap bubble. He stands still, unsure about what to say.

“I’ll let you be, Nam-goon,” Dongwoo says, breaking the silence. He sounds softer than his usual vibrant self. “Don’t worry about earlier. I shouldn’t have said—He’s important. For all of us.”

Woohyun keeps staring at somewhere by their feet, his eyes skittering over the tiled floor. He doesn’t say anything before Dongwoo leaves, though he leans into him briefly when Dongwoo squeezes his arm.

After a long moment, Woohyun speaks again. “I’ll let you know when this is done,” he tells Sungyeol. His head is bowed low, like his neck is too stiff. “The rice cooker is on, too. You’ll tell the others?”

The bottom of Sungyeol’s stomach drops. “You aren’t eating with us?”

“I’m not that hungry.” Woohyun shrugs, his mouth twists. “And I still have work to do,” he adds.

“Woohyun—”

Woohyun raises his face at last. “Dinner is kind of rushed but it should be fine.” His smile looks normal, reassuring. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Everybody’s mood is subdued afterwards. Sunggyu and Dongwoo try to keep a conversation going, but Myungsoo barely replies, and Sungjong keeps glancing away, towards the dark space outside of the door frame, a little wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. Sungyeol picks at his food. The stew is hot and hearty, the pieces of pork fall apart on his tongue; he knows it’s good, but he’s barely aware of how it tastes. Still, he doesn’t want to stop eating— _You told me you wanted food_ , Woohyun had said, like that was good enough of a reason to change his mind.

Sungyeol remembers complaining about Woohyun only making an effort to cook when Howon was staying over. He doesn’t think he likes having proof that he was wrong all along.

Unsurprisingly, once the table has been cleared and the leftovers stored away, no one is willing to linger. Sunggyu seems reluctant to leave, frowning at Woohyun’s door as if he were planning to barge in, but Dongwoo guides him away, one hand wrapped firmly around Sunggyu’s forearm. There’s a moment of hesitation after they’re gone, like no one knows what to do, then Myungsoo asks Sungyeol to watch a drama with him, while Sungjong turns down the same offer and goes to take a bath instead.

Sungyeol gets caught up in the twists of the story, and doesn’t realize how late it has got until three episodes later, when Myungsoo’s head suddenly drops against his arm. He hits pause, manages to shake Myungsoo awake for just long enough to help him settle in a more comfortable position. Myungsoo barely stirs, only mumbling a faint _thank you_ when Sungyeol switches off the lights of the bedroom.

He sees movement out of the corner of his eye, somewhere at his left by the entrance, sudden enough to startle him.

“This isn’t your flat,” Sungyeol blurts when he realizes who’s coming in, and then, “Are you drunk?”

“Dongwoo-hyung left me a note,” Howon says flatly, ignoring the question. He walks a few steps past Sungyeol, takes a look in the living room. “Where’s Woohyun?”

Sungyeol follows him into the apartment. “Working on stuff? I haven’t seen him for a while.”

“He wasn’t feeling well earlier,” Howon says, almost as if he were thinking aloud. He knocks on Woohyun’s door, just a soft, quick tap of his knuckles.

“Really?” Sungyeol doesn’t know why it catches him by surprise. Woohyun’s been on edge lately, exhausted and brittle; Sungyeol wonders for exactly how long.

The flat is completely still. Howon sighs, loud and heavy. He grips the handle, pushes the door open.

Woohyun’s bedroom is illuminated by a reading light and the glow of his computer, but he’s fast asleep on his desk, headphones still on, a pen dangling loosely between his fingers. Howon walks up to him, covers the back of Woohyun’s neck with his hand. Sungyeol stays outside, watching as Howon carefully takes the headset off Woohyun and brings it to his own ears. He listens to whatever is playing for a few seconds, his face unreadable, then leaves it on the table, out of the way of Woohyun’s right elbow.

Howon’s thumb slides down the small knobs of Woohyun’s spine, until it comes to rest on the edge of his t-shirt. Woohyun moves under his touch, pushing himself up and away from the table. “Howonie,” he says muzzily, his voice barely over a whisper. His forehead drops against Howon’s ribcage.

“C’mon, time to get up,” Howon tells him. “I know you haven’t eaten anything yet.”

Woohyun obeys sluggishly. “Did Dongwoo tell you?”

“Sungjongie texted me first.”

“Honestly,” Woohyun complains, “it’s fine. I started writing something new.”

“So I heard,” Howon replies, cracking a small, affectionate smile.

Woohyun grins back. As soon as he notices Sungyeol standing just outside of the room his whole posture straightens, like he wasn’t slouching just a moment before. His mouth opens.

“I was just going to bed,” Sungyeol says first. He is—it’s late, and they have a new day packed full of schedules starting in hours. _What’s wrong?_ , he thinks, but it doesn’t feel right to ask, not when Woohyun has been doing everything he is meant to, performing as well as ever—or even better. He’s just tired, Sungyeol insists to himself; they are all tired. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Howon says, at the same time as Woohyun’s, “Goodnight, Yeollie.”

It’s far from the first time they’ve dealt with the pressure of a comeback. But as Sungyeol lies wide awake on his bed, he can’t help but wonder about the restlessness simmering under his skin, and the empty expression in Woohyun’s eyes while he was making dinner.

 

6.

Their apartment feels too quiet, the three of them tiptoeing around as if they were walking on eggshells, unsure of what to say or what to do to make the weirdness go away. The door of Woohyun’s bedroom remains closed. There are no calls over the first few days, no text messages either; nothing but silence and the worried faces of their managers, the hush of conversations that die down as fast as they begin.

After a week like that, Sungyeol tries to deal with the whole situation with an extra serving of sarcasm, until Sungjong snaps at him to shut up after one vocal practice where they all keep missing more notes than not, too distracted and high strung on uncertainty. Sunggyu has to usher Sungjong out of the studio so he can calm down, while Dongwoo looks like he’s a breath away from bursting into tears. No one says anything to Sungyeol, and that might be far worse than if all of them had yelled at him.

He sleeps badly that night, keeps startling awake every few minutes. The weight of Sungjong’s silent treatment still hangs in the room, cold and awkward. Sungyeol runs a hand down his face, gets up on unsteady feet to go grab a glass of water.

The lights of the kitchen are already on when he gets out of the bedroom. For a long moment, the only thing Sungyeol can do is blink sluggishly ahead, until his brain finally registers what he is seeing. He rushes forward, heart pounding in his mouth. His relief is as dizzying as short lived, though. Howon is the one sitting down at the table, hunched forward with his head in his hands, looking understandably tired given that it’s sometime past four in the morning. The electric kettle is on, and the tin where Woohyun keeps the tea is on the counter, next to two empty mugs.

Howon raises his head and glances at him with dry, puffy eyes. “Sungyeol-ah,” he says. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“No, I—” Sungyeol shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. His heart is still beating too fast, and his hands shake with the last dregs of adrenaline. “I just wanted some water.”

He walks up to the cupboard, all too conscious of Howon’s presence behind him, and has to very literally bite on his tongue to stop himself from asking questions.

“I forgot,” Howon says suddenly. Sungyeol turns around, but Howon isn’t looking at him, isn’t looking at anything. “I came here, but of course he wasn’t—” He stops, closes his mouth; his lips twist like the words have a sour taste. “I thought having some tea before I left would help. I didn’t—I didn’t even realize what I was doing, and then—” He gestures vaguely with a hand, rubbing under his jaw with the other. Sungyeol stares at him, not understanding what’s going on, until it finally dawns on him.

There are two mugs on the counter. 

“I just forgot, I guess,” Howon says again with a sigh. He sounds lost and exhausted, and for the first time in days Sungyeol feels the worry lodged in his chest like a tangible thing, sharp and painful. 

“Do you—?” Sungyeol begins, but he’s at a loss for words. Howon’s mood seems too dark, too heavy, and as much as Sungyeol wants to help he feels like he’d make everything worse again, if he tried to voice his thoughts. “I’m going back to bed.”

Howon nods, still not looking at him. “I’ll just—I’m gonna stay here. Just for a little longer.”

Sungyeol doesn’t reply. He turns tail without stopping to look back, keeps walking away until he’s back in his room and his shins hit the side of the bed, painfully enough to make his eyes water. Sungjong’s breaths are soft and even in the dark of the room. Sungyeol lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, uneasiness churning in his gut, and ends up wrapping himself in the sheets even though it’s too hot to be comfortable.

The kitchen is dark and empty again in the morning. The only thing that’s out of place is one lone mug, left to dry off upside down in the sink.

 

7.

There are voices coming from the kitchen when Sungyeol gets out of the shower, too muffled for him to recognize who they belong to or what they are saying. He drapes a towel over his wet hair and walks towards the noise, hoping that someone is fixing dinner and willing to share it with him. As he draws in closer the voices also grow clearer; soon he can distinguish Woohyun’s laugh and Howon’s softer replies over the sizzle of something that smells really good.

Sungyeol frowns. If Howon is staying over, then Woohyun is probably cooking, but that doesn’t guarantee that he will be in the mood to make enough food for five ravenous guys. However, a quick glance inside reveals Woohyun isn’t the one standing in front of the stove, but Howon, his head bent over a frying pan and an apron tied around his waist. Sungyeol tucks himself against the wall outside of the kitchen, just out of their line of sight, and looks at them curiously.

“You don’t have to scowl so much, Howon-ah,” Woohyun is saying, obviously amused. Howon barely acknowledges the comment; instead, he takes his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans, checks the screen, and puts it away again. “You also don’t have to check the time every five seconds,” Woohyun adds, leaning towards him. 

“Just—” Howon elbows him lightly. “Let me do this my own way.”

“I’m just saying, there’s no need to be so tense. The dumplings will turn out fine.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re the one who knows how to do this stuff.” Sungyeol watches him check his phone again. “Are you done with the sauce, anyway?”

“I’m on it,” Woohyun sing songs. He steps away, walking up to the fridge to grab a bunch of spring onions and the bottle of soy sauce. 

Sungyeol stares at them for a bit longer. As far as he knows, Howon doesn’t really cook, but he seems to be determined to do a good job now—he's still checking the time every so often, but the line of his shoulders looks a little looser than before. At one point the pan sputters noisily and Sungyeol winces in sympathy, imagining the sting of hot oil on bare skin. Howon doesn’t pull away, though, too absorbed in what he's doing; Woohyun is the one who reacts immediately, running a dish towel under the faucet, and dabbing at Howon’s wrists and the back of his hands with it. He must say something under his breath, too, because Howon smiles at him, soft and surprisingly sweet.

After that, they stay quiet for long enough that Sungyeol debates between staying around to see if he can get food out of it, or going back to his room. He knows he should stop eavesdropping, in any case, but there’s something that’s bothering him, something he can't exactly pinpoint. Woohyun’s standing so close to Howon that their shoulders are pressed together, and Howon’s just letting him be, like he’s more than used to having Woohyun into his personal space.

“See? They look really good,” Sungyeol hears Woohyun say.

“A couple of them have got stuck to the pan,” Howon complains.

“The taste’s what counts, Howonie.”

“Yeah, but—hey, what are you—? No, not that one.” That's definitely Howon’s exasperated tone. Sungyeol cranes his neck further, but he can only see their backs and a bit of Howon’s profile. “ _Woohyunie_. At least pick a dumpling that looks _nice_.”

“But—” Woohyun sounds muffled. He pauses, presumably to chew and swallow his mouthful, and when he speaks again his voice is so, so bright— “that one was so crispy and delicious. You _really_ are good at everything you do, huh?”

Sungyeol sees Howon’s ears go red at the same time that his own face heats up in reflex. It’s just—it’s _embarrassing_ , hearing Woohyun say stuff like that. Just like it's embarrassing seeing him sneak bites of food into Howon’s plate, or laugh at Howon’s lame puns until he ends up losing his breath. 

Sungyeol remembers the one time Woohyun attempted to make crème caramel after Howon made an offhand comment about liking it. He thinks about whenever he’s seen the two of them get so engrossed in each other that they seemed to forget about everything else. And then his mind goes back to that night a few months ago—to Howon, sitting alone in this very same kitchen with his head in his hands, waiting for Woohyun to come back home.

So maybe, Sungyeol admits to himself, he has been missing the whole picture for a long— _long_ —while.

“They’re just frozen dumplings,” Howon is saying—mumbling, really—but Sungyeol can hear how pleased he sounds, underneath the blush on his face, and then—

Woohyun braces himself on the small of Howon’s back and leans in once again. This time he keeps moving forward, only stopping when his nose bumps against Howon’s cheekbone. He stays there for a moment, pressed against Howon’s side, his fingers curled around a handful of Howon’s shirt. Sungyeol catches a glimpse of his face when he finally steps back. Woohyun looks happy, in a sort of quiet, slow contented way, something that looks very different from the exhilaration of being on a stage.

Sungyeol leaves before he ends up getting an eyeful of something that they probably don’t mean to share, keeping his footsteps as light as possible on his way to the living room. There’s a documentary about stingrays playing on the TV, and Myungsoo is sprawled facedown on the couch, sleeping with his half-open mouth smashed against one of the throw pillows. Sungyeol snorts, stopping to take a picture of his soft, guileless face—puddle of drool and all—before he goes to his room.

“You were gone for a long time,” Sungjong says, looking up from his tablet and stifling a yawn against the back of his hand. “Did you ask Woohyun-hyung what’s for dinner?”

“Actually,” Sungyeol says, and he can’t stop grinning. “How do you feel about ordering takeout tonight?”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, the idea for this fic started as a joke thanks to [this picture](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Cl5lxg2UYAA2voG.jpg), but at some point it turned into something completely different. It’s been a long time since then, and I want to thank everyone who has been following its progression for all their encouragement and patience. 
> 
> \---
> 
> List of dishes:
> 
> 1\. Fried rice: this is actually a mix of [these](http://www.maangchi.com/recipe/bokkeumbap) [two](http://kimchimari.com/kimchi-fried-rice/) recipes.  
> 2\. [Kimchi pancakes](http://www.maangchi.com/recipe/kimchijeon).  
> 3\. I didn’t reference a particular recipe for this vignette, but Woohyun’s meant to be cooking seafood marinara pasta.  
> 4\. Spicy braised chicken: I referenced two different versions of the same recipe; [here](http://www.maangchi.com/recipe/dakbokkeumtang) and [here](http://banchancomic.tumblr.com/post/98523396434).  
> 5\. [Kimchi stew](http://www.maangchi.com/recipe/kimchi-jjigae).
> 
> \---
> 
> Thank you very much for reading!


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